so musical a discord, such sweet thunder
by acrosticacrumpet
Summary: In the deep woods or the city waiting for revolution, over long weeks or in one summer's night, Helena and Hermia keep their secrets. [Helena/Titania, Helena/Hermia, Hermia/Lysander]


AN: I... am not really sure what this is. I listened to a lot of Mutemath's album "Vitals" while I was writing it, you should listen too! It's completely unrelated but very good. Also, none of this is in any sense historically accurate.

* * *

 _Among the Amazons,_ Hippolyta whispers, _no woman is forced to remain in a marriage against her will_.

 _The Amazons don't have men,_ Hermia whispers back, more breath and consonants than sound.

Hippolyta laughs. _But there are men, here,_ she says.

 _And?_

 _There could be Amazons here, too._

* * *

The woods are dark, and Helena only has the one lantern. When it burns out… At least it's summer, and not too cold.

She's a fool for doing this, but hasn't she always been a fool?

The air is full of the sound of insects and frogs, and rustling leaves. A breeze ruffles through her hair, sends her skirts flying about her. Far ahead, something is glowing.

No, not something. _Someone_. A man with a crown on his head.

At least… Is that a man?

* * *

Demetrius is exactly the kind of husband Hermia expected him to be: one who doesn't particularly care what his wife gets up to, provided his household runs smoothly and his wife looks appropriately beautiful when he's around.

Lysander wouldn't have been like that, but Lysander wasn't one of the choices given to her.

And Demetrius is useful, to a certain extent. Demetrius' wife can go where she wishes. Demetrius' wife can invite her friends over in the mornings, even friends he doesn't know. Friends _she_ doesn't know. Friends who carry swords.

Demetrius' wife can carry secret messages to Hippolyta, and wait.

* * *

Helena's mother took her aside, once. _Darling. You've been with Hermia again?_

 _Yes, mother._ Younger, Helena hadn't thought anything of it.

 _It's good that you have a friend, darling. But you're getting older now. These intimate friendships, they're part of your girlhood. Soon it'll be time for you to think about husbands._

Even now, Helena remembers the sudden sense of betrayal she felt, that her mother should have detected what Hermia never had.

And here she is, deep in the summer woods, leaving Hermia with nothing but a kiss on the forehead.

* * *

 _What news, my friend?_ Hippolyta says, as the sound of the cithara rings through the room, disguising her words.

Hermia waits for the citharoede to reach the climax of the piece. _Philippus is on her way. She has three hundred with her_.

Hippolyta closes her eyes and mouths a prayer of thanks to whatever goddess the Amazons worship.

 _Not long now,_ she says, very soft, steely-eyed. _Not long now_.

* * *

The man-creature in the crown is approaching. There's nothing about him that looks distinctly inhuman, and yet… Something about the proportions of his features, the line of his body, is _wrong_. He looks as if a tree took man-shape and started to walk.

His crown is woven of twisted gold, and Helena can't tell if it's metal or thorns.

 _Well,_ he croons. _Lost in the woods?_

* * *

Hermia smuggles weaponry, shelters Amazons, filters out money from the household funds for Hippolyta's cause. Hands tired-eyed women swords and tells them to be ready.

She wishes Helena were here. She wishes the cost of marrying Demetrius hadn't been Helena. She's almost forgotten what it feels like to be honest with someone.

* * *

Helena had known she had to choose someone to think about, after a while, just to get her mother off her back. Demetrius had worked, for a time. Her parents had been pleased. Demetrius… had liked how interested she seemed in him. Helena had got what she wanted.

Then Demetrius looked at Hermia and changed his mind, and all the safety Helena had cautiously worked towards went up in smoke.

In hindsight – oh, in hindsight it was funny, almost, to think that all unknowing she'd chosen a man for the one thing they had in common.

The one thing they both wanted.

* * *

Hermia hardly sleeps, these days. She lies awake and feels something thundering towards the city from far off, ready to be born. It roars in her ears like a heartbeat.

 _Soon, soon, soon,_ Hippolyta promises.

Was the moon always so bright? Hermia stares at it until it hurts her eyes, enough to close them. Her whole body is electric with waiting. She doesn't think she'll be able to sleep until all of this comes to a head.

* * *

The man-creature gives his name as Oberon, and flirts outrageously. Helena almost wants to laugh, except for how much she wants to cry.

It's so dark out here, and her lantern is burning lower every moment. In the flickering shadows the trees look eerie, almost human – or maybe that's Oberon's influence.

 _No,_ she says at last, _no, not tonight, let me pass_.

Oberon lets out a contemptuous laugh, and disappears in a whirl of autumn leaves. Then, suddenly, the forest is very bright.

Helena turns around, and there's a woman behind her, not glowing so much as _blazing_.

* * *

 _Theseus is dead!_ The cry fills Athens. People run through the streets in swarms, clutching at their neighbours, _have you heard, have you heard?_

Hippolyta makes an appearance, still in Athenian dress despite the sword she bears, a concession she had discussed in Hermia's presence. She swears to find the traitors who did this and make them pay for it in blood – their own for her husband's. She's convincing: no-one becomes one of the Amazons' most successful war-leaders without charisma.

 _Theseus' dream was the union of two peoples_ , she says, _just as we two were united, body and soul. So my Amazons shall be one with this city, body and soul, and guard it with their lives. You need have no fear of traitors now, with Athens and the Amazons standing together against them._

People whisper, but people always will. Theseus' death will become one of the great unsolved mysteries of history: so they planned it, in Hippolyta's private quarters, as the citharoede played on.

In these heady new days, Hermia feels as if she's floating, anchorless. She looks at her co-conspirators and sees her own shining-eyed wonder and fear in their faces.

* * *

 _What did he want with you?_ the woman says. Oberon glowed eerily, it made his skin look inhuman; this woman looks as if she's swallowed a comet, and it burned on the way down.

Helena wants to cower, then wants to laugh again, realising that cowering would do her no good. She hardly even needs the lantern now.

 _I don't know, lady,_ she says, not knowing what to do, except to lie.

 _Do you think I can't taste deceit?_ the woman snaps back. This time Helena does flinch. _What did my lord husband want with you?_

Helena puts the lantern down. Her arm aches, and she's very deep in the woods. She feels so tired that everything seems like a dream. _I don't know, lady_ – it _is_ the truth, in a way, she had no way of knowing how much he wanted from her – _but I didn't like it. I didn't want it back_.

For a moment Helena thinks she sees the woman's tongue flicker out to taste the air, like a snake. Then the light in her skin dies down, to something soft, a firefly's glow.

 _Lovesick and sad_ , the woman murmurs, as if to herself, and almost glides in the way she walks over to Helena. _You humans and your hearts, you feel everything so much._

She puts a hand out and runs her fingers down Helena's cheek: close up, she's taller than Helena. _My name is Titania, human, and I can give you relief._

There's something strange in her eyes as she speaks, something green and full of summer, the fever-depths of summer where dark and bright are the same. Her voice curls around the syllables of _relief_.

Her hand is still on Helena's face.

Helena trembles.

* * *

If Lysander knows anything of what Hermia did, he doesn't ask questions – or not yet, at any rate. Hermia is glad of it. She isn't quite sure she knows who she is, just at the moment, let alone what to tell someone wondering at how she's changed.

He touches her more, now, though, with a hand in hers, an arm round her shoulders, brushing away a stray wisp of hair from her forehead. It's as if he knows all of this could be taken away. Hermia lets him: she knows that, too.

Maybe one day she'll tell him what she did to make sure this, between the two of them, could happen. One day soon.

* * *

It's true what Titania said, that humans feel everything so much. Helena can tell the difference now. It's not that she no longer feels, but she feels things like waves, like tides and seasons, and she doesn't fight them any more.

But then Helena _is_ something like the tide now, something inhuman, coming and going in its own time.

Hermia's hands are in Lysander's, now, and her eyes are shining as she makes her vows, but they aren't wet. Helena smiles. Fireflies whirl in the air above her, gliding over to hover above the couple.

 _Come_ , a voice says, from the dark woods at her back, and Helena turns back. _It's time for the dance._

 _I come, lady,_ Helena says, and shivers as Titania reaches out with glowing fingers, makes bird's-foot trefoil bloom in her hair.

* * *

AN: OK, so I know that a comet is ice, but Helena doesn't. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
